Brain Itch
by ganja-chan
Summary: Sherlock can't sleep and bothers John to help him with it. Inspired by the song "Fake your death" by My Chemical Romance. Slash (johnlock), sex, written for the come-at-once challenge at LJ. Please review!


**A/N: That was written for the come-at-once challenge at LiveJournal! I think I might need to warn you that there's sex in it.**

* * *

"John."

"John!"

"Johnjohnjohnohohohjohn, oh John, John, wake up please, I can't sleep!"

John opened his eyes reluctantly. Sherlock was sitting cross-legged on their bed, his back against the headboard, elbows on his knees and chin resting on his palms. He was pouting like a five-year-old.

John risked a glance at the clock on the nightstand; it was almost four in the morning. The sky was still dark, but light from the street-lamps was seeping into the room through the window, and made the piece quite bright.

John placed his pillow over his head to block the light out, knowing that he was going to have a terrible headache later in the day. Where did his endurance from the army days go? He could swear he had been woken up at crazy times and felt more alive than ever for hours on end; that now he couldn't make it even to the lunch time without a headache... it was unthinkable. And quite frankly, it made him feel old.

He sighed.

"Why can't you sleep?" he asked from under the pillow. He could feel Sherlock shift and soon saw one of his eyes in the little gap that had been left between the edge of the pillow and the mattress. "You're not on a case, so just shut your brain down and come here, it's a lot nicer with you spooning me."

Sherlock gave out a chuckle. They had been having sex for over a year now; still, whenever John said anything even remotely related to romantic feelings or sex, Sherlock would behave like a teenager, blushing, having unexpected erections, giggling and generally expressing his awe at the fact that it was possible to do all these things with your body and make it feel really, really nice. Of course, Sherlock kept his composure in public, but his reactions when he was alone with John amused the latter beyond measure.

John smiled and moved the pillow so that he could place a tiny kiss on Sherlock's nose.

"You know I can't just shut my brain down," Sherlock scowled.

"So, what is it that you can't stop thinking about?" John asked again. He couldn't resist smirking and lowering his voice to a whisper to add with mock concern, "Is it, by any means, my cock?"

Even in the semi-darkness of his little pillow-shelter he could tell that Sherlock blushed a vivid red. But, instead of completely freaking out, the detective retorted in a low, sexy, smug rumble, "Yes, I'm always thinking about your cock, John."

With these words he slid his hand down John's chest, across his stomach and down to cup John's slowly awakening prick. He rubbed lightly, teasingly, and then withdrew his hand. It was amazing how Sherlock's brain could short-circuit at the mention of the rather innocent act of spooning, but when it came down to actually _doing _things, he was an expert at teasing John. John could swear Sherlock would be able to make him come just by making him watch and listen.

"You can't get enough of it, can you?" John groaned, rolling out from under the pillow and kissing Sherlock's neck hungrily, biting at the soft skin there to show just how much he would enjoy it if they had passionate sex now and could go back to sleep right away, if that was what had been bothering Sherlock.

"Actually, it's something else," Sherlock said between two kisses. John froze, fearing that it was something very not nice, but Sherlock's expression seemed innocent, even if he was a little disheveled after the kiss.

"So, what is it?" John asked, placing his head on Sherlock's chest, in the perfect hollow place between his pectoral muscle and his shoulder joint. Sherlock's arm curled around his back and stroked absent-minded circles on his shoulder-blade.

"Promise you won't laugh?" Sherlock asked, hesitantly. John considered his options.

"It depends on whether it is funny or not, I guess", he said, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

"There's this... _song _that I can't get out of my head," Sherlock said, pronouncing the word "song" as if was a nasty disease. His voice was rumbling in his chest and against John's ear, and it didn't help the erection that Sherlock had started earlier. "My brain's itching, John. It can't stay unstimulated for so long. I can hum the song, here."

Sherlock hummed a tune that was so simple that John knew instantly why it repelled Sherlock; if Sherlock hummed at all, he usually chose Beethoven, maybe some Mozart if he needed anything closer to pop music. And the tune that bothered Sherlock was definitely something more modern (which wasn't that much of a clue if compared to Mozart), but John had no idea what it could be, although it did sound familiar.

And it sounded definitely sexy when heard as a low vibration in Sherlock's chest. John slid his hand under the waistband of Sherlock's pyjama pants and rubbed the skin there, not touching the cock yet. He stroked the soft curls as the base of Sherlock's prick, and soon it started tugging at the fabric. Sherlock's breath hitched.

Suddenly, Sherlock let out a small gasp that announced an idea. "Oh, John, you're so brilliant!" Sherlock said breathlessly and hugged John tight.

"Thank you, but what have I-"

"You said I should shut my brain down! We're going to distract it with intercourse!"

John smiled at Sherlock's enthusiasm when the detective almost jumped out of his pyjama bottoms and tugged John's down as well, and then grabbed their tube of lubricant from the nightstand, lay down on his back with his legs up in the air, and started working himself open, to John's great delight. He liked to watch Sherlock stretch his hole with his long fingers, first just one, then two, scissoring and twisting; John's cock twitched with anticipation at what would happen then.

Sherlock seemed to be at first unaware of the effect his ministrations had on John, but when their eyes met, Sherlock smiled lusciously and threw his head back to expose that long, beautiful neck.

John licked his lips. Sherlock's fingers were disappearing in his arse, stretching open that perfect hole that John would soon fill up with his cock. He could hardly wait any longer, and when Sherlock withdrew his fingers, he was there in a split second, rolling on a condom onto his aching cock and pressing it into the tight opening. Sherlock's head rolled from side to side, his eyes shut tight.

"Does it hurt?" John asked, ready to back off if there was anything wrong.

"Yes, but it's perfect," Sherlock replied in a hoarse voice, looking up at John with eyes darkened with passion.

John could only believe him. He rolled his hips slightly. Sherlock's long legs encircled his waist, joining at the small of John's back, and urged John to go deeper and faster.

John pushed all the way in, down to his balls, and marvelled at the blissful sensation of being surrounded by the tight walls. He leaned to the front, bending Sherlock in half, and kissed him while slowly building up the rhythm of their movements, synchronizing his thrusts with Sherlock bucking his hips, and soon Sherlock was raking his fingernails on his back, panting. Small moans were escaping their lips with each thrust. John's face was pressed against Sherlock's shoulder and Sherlock bit on his hand not to cry out, and the sound of the muffled cry was just too much for John. He needed only a few more thrusts and his body tensed, the impact of his orgasm overwhelming him as he came, slamming his hips against Sherlock's arse.

When he caught his breath, Sherlock was stroking his nape with one hand and his own cock with the other.

The view of Sherlock pleasuring himself was almost enough to make John ready for another round. Sherlock's eyes were on John's face, wet with tears of pleasure, his lips reddened and parted, his chest heaving and his long fingers in a tight circle around his long, beautiful cock.

John bent down and licked a drop of precome that had begun to form on the head. Sherlock didn't stop working his hand on his cock when John took the hot head in his mouth and sucked lightly, looking up at Sherlock. Their eyes met and Sherlock's movements sped up. John massaged the head with his tongue, tasting the bitter precome and revelling in how smooth the skin there felt against the inside of his mouth.

He rubbed Sherlock's balls gently and could feel them tighten already. Sherlock needed just another suck to come, biting back the moan that threatened to escape. John felt the hot seed spurt into his mouth and when he was sure Sherlock was spent, he swallowed and licked Sherlock's cock clean. Sherlock chuckled and twitched; his penis was very sensitive after what John had done to him.

"Oh, John", Sherlock groaned, pulling John up by the shoulders. He looked as if he was at a loss for words, his eyes unfocused, mouth slack and movements clumsy.

They kissed sloppily, Sherlock's tongue exploring John's mouth as if he wanted to taste all the drops of come that John might have left there. It was kind of erotic. Then John took the condom off and tossed it into a bin they had prepared for this kind of stuff. He then collapsed against Sherlock's sweaty chest, sighing with contentment. Everything smelled like awesome sex.

"So, what about the song?" John asked, remembering what had led to the sex in the first place.

Sherlock was silent for a moment and then laughed lazily.

"Now I remember that there was the line _I choose defeat_, you know. It's utterly idiotic; I guess I'll Google it first thing in the morning so that I can at least get rid of the brain itch," he said and then yawned. John was already drifting back to sleep.

* * *

"So, that is the abomination that invaded my head yesterday", Sherlock huffed, pressing the play button on a YouTube video. A simple but pleasant piano tune started to play, and Sherlock looked at the webpage as if it was a nasty bug. He fastened his dressing gown tighter around his middle and scowled at the innocent video as if it had offended his ego.

"Well, it's not that bad, is it?" John asked, smiling. He was sure he had heard the song on the radio, maybe at Scotland Yard or at the clinic, and it really was above average when it came to what people listened to these days. He vaguely remembered that the band had something about romance in the name.

John took the last sip of his tea when Sherlock stormed out of the room, grabbing a newspaper and muttering to himself, "_So fake your death, or it's your blame_? That doesn't make any sense! No wonder people are so dumb nowadays if they listen to this... filth."

The song finished as John opened one of the newspapers scattered on the coffee table. The tune was so catchy that it got stuck in his head now and he couldn't help tapping his foot to the rhythm. He smiled at the memory of how he had helped Sherlock get rid of the brain itch, and he started to wonder whether Sherlock could help him in return.

John's thoughts went to the lyrics of the song, which despite the seemingly happy tune had an alarming and somehow sad feeling to them, as if they were trying to remind him of something that had been buried deep in his unconscious. He frowned at the disturbing thought, but couldn't delve into it anymore, as Sherlock stomped back into the room, still muttering, his dressing gown flapping around his legs.

"Boffin", he spit the word out with indignation, throwing the newspaper onto the coffee table. "Boffin Sherlock Holmes."

That was what the title on the front page read. John picked the paper up. It seemed that the song was only the beginning of Sherlock's foul mood for that day, which John could only accept with resignation, as he always did.


End file.
